A ministry of small complaints... A short story

 


A Ministry of Small Complaints


By Faraz Parvez

1. The Bureau

In a narrow alley of Lahore’s Old City, nestled between a dented samosa shop and a tailor's stall that promised "World-Class Parisian Stitching," stood The Ministry of Small Complaints. It was not an official government department, though the sign outside—painted in a hurried, slightly apologetic Urdu—suggested otherwise.

"چھوٹی چھوٹی شکایات کا دفتر"
(Office for Minor Grievances—We Listen, We Nod, We Forget.)

It was the brainchild of Uncle Fazal, an ex-govt. officer who had once worked in "Serious Departments" (Land Reform, Defense Procurement) but had been forcibly retired due to a minor misunderstanding involving a missing truckload of imported biscuits. Wanting to remain useful, he started this humble ministry to address the grievances too insignificant for the actual government to handle.

His assistants, Junaid (who had failed the CSS exam five times but could recite legal loopholes like poetry) and Shagufta Baji (a retired school principal whose slap could correct even the curvature of the Earth), helped manage the visitors.

2. The Visitors

The cases brought before the ministry ranged from the hilariously mundane to the quietly tragic.

  • Gulbaz the Chicken Seller: Claimed that his neighbor's rooster crowed in an un-Islamic tone at dawn.
  • Farhat Aunty: Wanted the shopkeeper across the street to stop calling her "Baji" because she was certain he meant it sarcastically.
  • Ali Baba (no relation to the Alibaba): Was convinced his landlord was stealing his Wi-Fi at night.
  • Mumtaz the Poet: Wrote free verse about Lahore’s sewage system and wanted the ministry to make the government appreciate his genius.

Then there was Rehana, a young woman whose complaint was unusual. She had a notebook filled with "unexpressed complaints," things she wanted to say but couldn’t—about her boss's condescending tone, her mother's obsession with finding her a "good rishta," and the way shopkeepers always assumed she didn't know how to bargain.

3. A New Policy

Uncle Fazal, after listening to the day's grievances, sighed and made an important announcement.

"From now on, this ministry will not only register complaints but also teach the fine art of small revenge."

Junaid clapped excitedly. "You mean, legal revenge?"

"Of course not," said Fazal. "I mean petty, satisfying revenge."

Shagufta Baji immediately designed a Revenge Training Program, offering lessons such as:

  • How to Confuse a Shopkeeper with Counter-Sarcasm
  • The Art of Loud Whispering ("Uff, Some People Have No Shame")
  • Strategic Ignoring: A Beginner's Guide

Rehana, fascinated, signed up. "Can I lodge a complaint against my own hesitation?"

"Of course!" Fazal beamed. "And I recommend you try the 'Slightly Delayed Reply' technique. Frustrates the other person just enough."

4. A Crisis

One day, a man in a crisp white shalwar kameez, Mr. Altaf, walked in with an official-looking file.

"I am from the Real Government," he announced. "And I’m here to investigate this ministry."

Fazal, unimpressed, asked, "Which department?"

"The Ministry of No Nonsense."

Shagufta Baji snorted. "And yet, here you are."

Altaf adjusted his cuffs. "There are rumors that you are encouraging minor rebellions. The government does not appreciate micro-revolutions."

Fazal smiled. "We only help people express their feelings. Some do it through words, some through selective ignoring, some through poetry about the sewage system."

Mumtaz the Poet nodded, deeply moved.

"But do you fix anything?" Altaf challenged.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Rehana said, "Sometimes, just naming a problem makes it smaller. And sometimes, knowing others share your problem makes you feel lighter."

Altaf opened his mouth to argue, then paused. A strange expression crossed his face. "Actually, can I lodge a complaint?"

"Of course," Fazal said, handing him a pen.

Altaf hesitated, then wrote: My boss keeps calling me 'beta' even though I'm forty-two.

Shagufta Baji nodded solemnly. "Classic power play. We'll train you in the 'Politely Ambiguous Stare' technique."

And with that, The Ministry of Small Complaints continued its sacred mission—one minor grievance at a time.

Why This Story Matters

At farazparvez.blogspot.com, we aim to bring literature with humor, depth, and relatability. This story reflects the absurdity, resilience, and quiet defiance embedded in daily South Asian life.

Through fiction, poetry, and cultural commentary, our blog hopes to be a place where readers laugh, think, and feel heard.

For more insightful, thought-provoking, and engaging narratives, keep visiting farazparvez.blogspot.com—where stories speak for the unheard.!


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